


i see you move your lips but it sounds like gibberish

by r1ker



Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: M/M, i'm inspired always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i started watching x files/lone gunmen and decided to write a little something for a tumblr pal</p>
    </blockquote>





	i see you move your lips but it sounds like gibberish

**Author's Note:**

> i started watching x files/lone gunmen and decided to write a little something for a tumblr pal

Langly’s sitting by himself in the back office of the headquarters, messing around with scraps of metal that should mean something but don’t yet, when he first hears it.

 

It’s a quiet breath, stifled with something that’s probably a hand, making it hiss out into the air. He doesn’t know whom it could have come from – Frohike went home hours ago ( _oh God, he can’t even imagine Frohike bringing someone back here and doing that to Langly’s innocence_ ) and Byers was in and out of the headquarters doing, well, what Byers does, flitting about finding something to do – so he ignores it. It could have been the hydraulics on any one of the pieces of equipment that litter the junk room in the back of headquarters, breathing out their last bits of life as the parts that comprise them lose their structural steam.

 

Just as he’s getting somewhere with attaching frayed wire to a circuit with some promise, it sounds again. The noise staggers like the person making it is trying to make it quieter than it had initially planned to be. This time, there’s a few words attached to the end of it.

 

_Jimmy, please… please touch me._

Langly stiffens like he’s been electrocuted, touched with something tangible. He’d swear on a backwards, Klingon bible that the words were coming from Byers’ mouth. Just what the hell does Byers mean by “touch?” Langly really, really doesn’t want to answer that question. He rummages through a desk drawer at his left knee and fishes out some noise-canceling headphones that should do the job in letting Jimmy and Byers do... their thing.

 

What Langly doesn’t detect is that the headphones have since lost their noise-canceling padding and soon are useless when the noises pick up in pitch. It’s muffled words mingled with breaths again, Byers begging for it while Jimmy deliberately lacks in following direction.

 

Langly has half a mind to see if they’re okay – it could have been some catastrophic injury or something, hell, he doesn’t know – but remains in his seat. If he walked in on the two of them fucking on a table Langly worked on just hours before, he doesn’t know if all the bleach in the world could remove it from his memories.

 

Granted, he respects their right to do it, of course, but for God’s sake, not on the equipment. Leave the equipment unfettered and Langly will be just fine. It is sacred ground to Langly, where some of his finest work is born. But sometimes the need to do it just can’t wait until a private room and bed are obtained, Langly supposes. He rolls his eyes, mentally prepares the lengthy lecture he’s going to give the two of them on fraternizing (fucking) in the office while Langly’s present, and continues on working with the circuit and metal.

 

The table Langly figures they’re doing all the dirty work on begins to rock against the wall separating the two rooms. Langly rolls his eyes so hard he’s certain he strained a muscle. The sounds get louder – none from Jimmy, surprisingly, Langly always figured he’d be the one to sound like an alley cat and not Byers – and Langly stops working. Seriously, he puts the things in his hands down on the table and waits for Byers to quiet back down so he can continue working in semi-peace. He assumes these sorts of things come in waves, the noises and the sounds associated with sex. Maybe the same will happen with them. Langly, as he thinks he always is when it comes to these circumstances, is horribly wrong.

 

_Oh God, Jimmy… oh, fuck…_

God, the sounds seem to be all that are floating in Langly’s mind. (And Jesus, did Byers just curse? Does Jimmy really have that effect on him? If so Langly figures they’ll need to keep him around) Thoughts are gone out the window; all Langly can think about is what’s going on in that room to even make Byers act like that. And, of course, Jimmy has long since lost his cool and that piques Langly’s interest, even though he hates to admit it.

 

The uninhibited groans Jimmy’s starting to make, the endless moans escaping from Byers even though there’s probably a hand over his mouth, all of them together make Langly feel like he’s the one intruding on them. Even though he’s nowhere near the door or even being close into their personal space, for some reason he feels like he’s right there listening and watching.

 

Langly looks around the room impatiently, taps his foot against the floor in an effort to preoccupy himself with something other than listening to Byers getting fucked on a lab table.

 

Speaking of the table, the lovely contraption that does its job just fine in holding everything Langly needs to do his job, it’s making rather ominous squeaks while it hits against the cinder block walls. Langly fears that if it breaks with the two of them atop it he won’t be able to conceal his laughter at all. Wouldn’t that be a gas, he thinks, the two of them bare-assed naked and lying on a pile of bent aluminum? Langly snorts and decides to work through the sounds even though they’re more intrusive than he wants them to be.

 

The end is near just as soon as it begins. Once Byers starts whimpering with something Langly can detect is a strange sort of fear, a distinct sound of panic that Langly can’t and won’t associate with anything, he knows that he’s about to have peace restored to his beloved headquarters. Jimmy starts getting a little louder, asking something of Byers. It’s one of those claims made blindly in the throes of intercourse and Langly thinks it won’t mean anything. The request comes to have more meaning than Langly hoped and he feigns interest in Jimmy’s words.

 

_Come on, John, I know you can do it…_

Langly looks intently at the wall and waits for Byers to follow direction, to obey in order to speed up the process and get Langly back to work in silence. He does, thank God, and guessing by the sharp groan he lets out he comes all over the table. Langly starts keeping tally of all the boxes of wipes it’s going to take to get that table as clean as it was when it was new. Jimmy starts grunting, his climax climbing up slowly but surely, and Langly snickers – _ha, what a schnook, this kind of shit tires him out easily_ , Langly thinks.

 

Byers cries out for the final time and Jimmy follows him with an exclamation of _oh God, John!_ Langly has to restrain himself from yelling out “Oh thank God, I have been liberated” in relief at a pitch that would have alerted the others to the fact that he was passively listening. He remains quiet and listens to the two men breath quietly.

 

One of them stands after a few minutes tick by. Based on the heavy footfalls Langly assumes the person is Jimmy, working towards the bathroom down the hall to get things to clean the two of them. Langly puts down the circuit and metal and waits by the door for either one of the guys to come in and alert him that they’re here.

 

Byers stumbles in sleepily fifteen minutes later and Langly tries not to snort at just how fucked out the guy looks. Byers’ hair is in one harsh swoop from where his hand has tried to push the coif back into place. His tie has been put back into a loose knot around his neck but one thing has been blindly ignored. Langly, looking him over from head to toe, sees that Byers’ fly is unzipped, brassy fly sticking out straight in an unorthodox betrayal of Byers’ usual composed appearance.

 

“Hey, sport,” Langly says, still looking down at Byers’ pants. “Might want to take care of that, there.” Byers jerks and his hand flails for a few seconds before tugging his fly back into place. When he finishes he looks back up at Langly, face red beneath his beard.

 

Langly looks at him in the eye, part of his glance lingering towards a few bright red splotches on the side of Byers’ throat. “Also, tug up the collar. Jimmy likes to leave marks, doesn’t he?”

 

Byers makes a noise of unknowing. “It wasn’t Jimmy, I…”

 

“Totally wasn’t getting my brains fucked out on the work table in the next room by my colleague I so didn’t know was going to top me? Sure. I also, as you know, was born yesterday,” Langly deadpans, reaching down to pick up his abandoned headphones. “When these puppies don’t work, you’re being loud. And trust me, it was Jimmy. Who else sounds like a locomotive when they’re fucking someone?”

 

Byers’ eyes threaten to bulge from his head and Jimmy walks in behind him, sets his jaw down on Byers’ shoulder casually. Langly’s eyebrows shoot up in a knowing gesture and Byers doesn’t even work to conceal the blush that intensifies on his cheeks. Langly just laughs and turns back to his desk to continue the work he started. However, before throwing himself back into the game, he gives the two lovers one piece of advice.

 

“Next time, kids, check the place before you drop your pants.”


End file.
